Page 19

19

Monday afternoon

“Charlie.”

The voice of his immediate boss came from behind him, as he walked away from Kent’s office.

“It’s time we went to find out about this fake fire officer. You can drive.”

It was unusual for Charlie to spend more than half an hour or so with DI Ravensbourne. Her usual habit was to appear, ask pertinent questions, issue carefully constructed instructions — with an inevitable sting in the tail — and depart in a cloud of cigarette smoke. Today, for reasons known only to Freya Ravensbourne herself, Charlie was driving her to a fire station just over the border into England, in search of the elusive Jeff Britton.

Charlie was instructed to take the ‘scenic route’ avoiding the main roads with their road works and holiday traffic. It meant a lot of tight bends and steep hills, and shadows stark against the bright sunshine. But many of the fields were still green, dotted with newly shorn sheep, and noisy with the sound of farmers getting their hay in before the weather inevitably changed. There were stretches of road completely shaded by trees arching overhead, and others where the land stretched out in front of them until Charlie was certain the whole country was visible.

Ravensbourne sighed. “Who needs to go abroad when the weather is like this?” she asked, apparently not expecting an answer as she gazed out of the window. “Not that it is often like this,” she said after a moment, “and when it is, there is always trouble.”

Which was a much more Freya Ravensbourne thing to say.

“Trouble?” Charlie asked.

“Idiots drinking all day and getting into fights. Windows left open so the thieves have easy pickings. Teenagers jumping into freezing water and drowning. Riots. Looting. You must have noticed that nobody ever riots in the rain?”

Charlie grinned. “Too right, boss.” Riots were a summer phenomenon.

“What’s that got to do with our attempt to find Jeff Britton?” he asked.

“Jeff Britton, ” Ravensbourne said. “Our impostor fireman chose a significant pseudonym, don’t you think?”

It hadn’t occurred to Charlie, and it should have done.

“So, he was behind the graffiti?”

“That’s what we are going to find out,” Ravensbourne said. “But while we’re here, I think we ought to talk about Patsy.”

Charlie braked for a steep downhill bend and then braked again as the twenty-mile-an-hour sign came into view half hidden in the hedge. There were a few houses clustered in the valley bottom, with a single-lane hump-backed bridge. Even at this time of year, the valley was shaded. It must be in permanent gloom for the rest of the year. Charlie gave an involuntary shiver. He felt, rather than saw Ravensbourne look over to him.

“I was just thinking that living in the bottom of a valley like this must always be chilly and damp,” he said.

“It was,” Ravensbourne said. “I was brought up in a place like this. And it flooded most years, too.”

Charlie, brought up under huge open skies next to the sea, shuddered again. “Much too closed in for me,” he said.

“Me, too. Now then, Patsy. Could she have killed her boyfriend?”

Obviously, there would be no more personal revelations.

“She could have. She’s strong enough, and clever enough. But I think she would have told us what she’d done.”

“For what it’s worth, I agree,” Ravensbourne said. “Though without a very good alternative suspect, she’s in the frame, front and centre. I have to tell you that the word at HQ is that Unwin had it coming and Patsy did it.”

“Then it must be true,” Charlie said bitterly.

“Must be,” Ravensbourne said. “Which being so, we need to look for alternatives. Not to put too fine a point on it, you are considered partisan and pro-Patsy. People being human, they may discount any suspects you come up with. I, by contrast, will be listened to.”

Which is why you are here. Thank you.

“Understood, boss,” Charlie said.

They drove most of the rest of the way in silence, Charlie concentrating on driving, and Ravensbourne gazing out of the window at the passing scenery. As they came into the outskirts of the town, Ravensbourne provided directions to the fire station. Charlie parked in a visitor’s spot, and the two of them got out of the car, Ravensbourne rather more creakily than Charlie expected. She stretched, lit a cigarette and drew the smoke in like it was restoring her health. Before she had taken more than a couple of puffs, a door opened, and a man came out. Ravensbourne quickly stubbed the cigarette out.

“Filthy habit,” she said, walking towards the man. She extended her warrant card. “DI Ravensbourne and DS Rees, Clwyd Police.”

The man’s expression lightened. “Come on in, it’s cooler.”

The officer introduced himself as Kieran Pretty, the watch commander. He didn’t match his name, looking instead like an unsuccessful boxer. “You’re here about Burton, yes? I can’t tell you much except that he’s disappeared, and we haven’t heard from him for over a week. He’s retained, not full time, but he ought to stay in touch. Drink?”

They both accepted tea.

“First up,” Ravensbourne said, “have you got a photo of the elusive Burton?”

Pretty bashed his computer keyboard a few times and then turned the monitor towards them. A photograph of a younger Jeff Britton faced them.

“That’s him,” Charlie said. “I can’t tell you where he is now, but I can tell you where he was on Sunday morning. Impersonating a fire investigator in Llanfair, and for what it’s worth, doing it convincingly.”

Pretty nodded slowly and slurped his tea. “That’s him finished,” he said. “And to be honest, I won’t be sorry, though he is a good firefighter. Causes trouble. Lots of complaints.” Pretty’s mouth shut, as if he didn’t want to say any more.

Good luck with that, mate, with Ravensbourne here.

“Complaints?” Ravensbourne asked. “Complaints from women and people of colour? Complaints that he is vehemently anti-immigrant? Or don’t you worry about those kind of complaints?”

Pretty’s eyes flashed, and his lips tightened. “We aren’t in the nineteen-eighties any more,” he snapped.

Ravensbourne simply lifted her eyebrows.

“He just never shuts up. Everything’s a conspiracy. He can bore for England about how the Jews and the Blacks are taking over and we white folk are being replaced, only the government won’t admit it. White men going with coloured women are betraying their race. Dear God, he can go on for hours, quoting his bloody evidence . None of the others want to sit near him. Maybe there is something in what he says, it’s just that he won’t stop going on about it.”

Ravensbourne raised her eyebrows again. “That is an interesting perspective,” she said.

They didn’t stay long after that.

“I wonder if they really will sack him?” Charlie wondered aloud.

“Convict him of spraying racist graffiti in Llanfair, and it’ll be hard not to. Convict him of murder, and the question won’t arise. Though wouldn’t the world be a better place if he got the sack just for being a nasty bigot?”

“As opposed to being a boring, nasty bigot? We can dream.”

The rest of the journey passed peacefully enough. Ravensbourne was good company when she wasn’t giving Charlie horrible jobs to do. She was even sympathetic when he told her about Unwin’s brother ringing Mal Kent and accusing Patsy of the murder.

“Looks like you’ll be visiting the Unwins again after you drop me off. Take Eddy. Get a second opinion on their relationship with Patsy.” she said, and that was more like the Ravensbourne he was used to.